International Relations
by Francesca Monterone
Summary: "Arthur, there is no power in the world that could have stopped Ivan from entering that room. I had the choice between letting him see Matthew and watching him kill Alfred and I thought you might prefer the former." - Companion Piece to Crimson Skies, PruAus, US/UK, France/UK, some GerIta and obviously Russia/Canada
1. US, UK & France: Loyalties

**Title:** International Relations  
**Fandom:** Hetalia Axis Powers  
**Genre:** Romance/Friendship  
**Pairings:** Prussia/Austria, Russia/Canada, US/UK, France/UK, Germany/N. Italy, Spain/S. Italy  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. If I did, Francis would actually have a French name.

**Summary:** Companion piece to "Crimson Skies", focusing on the other nations and their relationships. Starts in Waghington, when Arthur and Francis arrive to clean up after their misbehaving children once more and then loosely follows the storyline of "Crimson Skies".

* * *

Arthur was by no means as superstitious as the other nations claimed he was (after all, magic was real, never mind the opinion of those who were too blind to see it). He knew a bad omen when he saw it, though, and Ludwig waiting for him in the hospital's lobby and wearing an expression as if he was about to confess to the second rise of Adolf Hitler was definitely a bad, bad sign.

"Ludwig." Francis rushed past him and towards the German, stopping abruptly right in front of him and briefly taking both his hands, squeezing them. An awkward gesture, since Francis was a very tactile person, while Ludwig was reserved and uncomfortable with physical contact. "How are they?"

It was the very question that was burning on Arthur's lips, too.

"Worse than they should be," Ludwig replied. "I still don't know or understand what really happened, but it is just… wrong. We don't do such things to each other. Not anymore. And they are brothers and allies." He drew a deep breath, apparently staling himself to their reaction to his next statement. "Ivan is with Matthew."

Arthur gasped, a startled yelp escaping him, and he rapidly moved closer. "Are you _insane?!_" He hissed.

"Arthur, there is no power in the world that could have stopped Ivan from entering that room," Ludwig said in a resigned tone of voice. "I had the choice between letting him see Matthew and watching him kill Alfred and I thought you might prefer the former."

"I know I do," Francis murmured. "What's he doing, Ludwig?"

"I'm not entirely sure, since he more or less kicked me out, but Ivan usually keeps his word, so my educated guess would be that he's trying to heal Matthew."

Arthur exhaled sharply and he caught a soft hiss from Francis, too.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Francis said.

"Well, what would you have me do?" Ludwig asked, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I had two severely injured nations on my hands and it would have been irresponsible to leave them in that state. I had to think of their populations, too. Ivan was more than willing to take one of them off my hands, and if you had seen his face when he stepped into that room and saw Matthew, you would not doubt him. He doesn't intend to hurt Matthew; he was earnestly upset and worried about him. I wouldn't advise coming anywhere near him at this point, though, because he is also livid with rage. He obviously blames Alfred."

"Justly?" Francis asked, raising his brows.

Ludwig shrugged. "I suppose that depends on your point of perspective. Matthew almost certainly initiated the fight, but knowing him, he would have had to be sufficiently provoked to take such drastic actions. I suggest we ask Alfred about that, once he is better. I'm sure there is an interesting story behind all this."

_Oh God, Alfred…! _Arthur thought, _what did you do now…?_

"I want to see him," he said.

"Both of them," Francis corrected him, sending him a look laced with disapproval. Arthur shrugged it off impatiently.

"As I said – I do not think that disturbing Ivan right now is a very good idea. Let him do his work, and once he has calmed down sufficiently to be safe to approach, we can deal with him," Ludwig said. "Alfred's room is down the hall. I'll show you."

Arthur followed him rather apprehensively. He dreaded the sight of a severely injured Alfred confined to a hospital bed. Francis, despite his obvious misgivings regarding Arthur's more intimate relationship with Alfred, seemed to sense his uneasiness and put a comforting hand on his arm. Though never entirely comfortable with close bodily contact with his former lover, Arthur appreciated the gesture.

Ludwig pushed an impersonal white door open and stepped into the room in front of them. The room was rather large, sparsely furnished and currently occupied by two people. One was a slender nurse, neatly dressed in pale blue hospital garb, sitting next to the bed. The second was none other than the human impersonation of the United States of America, looking pale, still and decidedly too sick.

"Alfred," Arthur muttered, shaken by the sight. He hesitated, then gave in to the urge to rush to Alfred's side.

"How is he?" Ludwig asked the nurse.

"Stable," she replied with what was likely intended to be a comforting smile. It did not comfort Arthur.

"Could you leave us alone with him for a moment?" Ludwig asked politely.

The nurse looked doubtful. "I shouldn't…"

"I do think you should," Ludwig said, his voice not unkind but quite firm.

The nurse visibly shrank, nodded meekly and retreated.

"Impressive," Francis said. "Though she is one of Alfred's, so you really should have asked permission before influencing her."

"She has dual citizenship," Ludwig replied, "she is one of mine, too, which is why it worked." He frowned briefly. "That still doesn't feel right. How can you be loyal to two countries, sometimes even three or four? It's not possible. You cannot divide your allegiance like that."

"Modern times, Ludwig. You need to discard your old-fashioned view of nationality. People move around a lot, they marry across borders, live in one country, then in another – it's not that easy to tell who belongs to whom anymore. We all have to learn to share, I believe." *

"Hush," Arthur said, gently taking one of Alfred's hands into his. It felt cold, but the calm, steady throb of Alfred's pulse was reassuring. Injured he might be, but he was strong and he would soon recover.

"You're right," Francis said, his face assuming an unusually earnest and sober expression as he stepped to the other side of the bed. "It's been a while since I have seen him in such bad shape," he noted. "Beaten up by Canada, my, my… and here I was thinking that I had Mathieu all figured out."

"This has to be Ivan's doing," Arthur said, shaking his head in dismay. "Matthew on his own would never do such a thing. He's not capable of it."

"Ah… I don't know, Arthur. I tend to agree with Ludwig on this one. If sufficiently provoked, I do think Mathieu would be capable of attacking his brother. And even you have to admit that Alfred has a real talent for provoking others."

Arthur gazed at Alfred's still form, his pale face and closed eyes, and a feeling of panic took grip of his heart and constricted his throat. He had seen Alfred sick or injured plenty of times, but that did not mean that he would ever get used to it or ever stop worrying. "We should have been there," he said at last, his voice very quiet. "We should have prevented this from happening."

Francis, to whom the words had chiefly been addressed, remained silent for a long moment. "They are all grown up now, Arthur," he finally said, his voice gentle and colored by a trace of melancholy. "All our children are."

"I will go and check on Ivan and Matthew," Ludwig announced from somewhere near the door. "Carefully."

"That does seem prudent," Francis agreed, but he made no move to join him. When the door had shut with a soft thump behind the German, he stepped around to Arthur's side of the bed.

"Francis," Arthur said, looking up, "we have to take action against Ivan. Even if it does mean war. We cannot allow this to happen, not to Matthew. Grown up he may be, but he is still family."

Francis frowned. "No," he disagreed, violently shaking his head. "I mean – yes, of course Mathieu is family, but fighting Ivan is out of the question."

"Are you scared?" Arthur asked, his lip curling depreciatively.

"Yes," Francis replied sharply, "of losing one of my dearest friends and allies whom I still regard as a son, and also of starting a war that will devastate the entire northern hemisphere. And let me ask you a question, Arthur – what do you think Ivan is doing right now? Is he sitting somewhere, smoking a pipe and plotting the downfall of the western world or devising elaborate ways to harm Mathieu? No. He is in a room much like this one, holding Mathieu's hand like you are holding Alfred's right now. Because he cares about our little boy. As much as you care about Alfred… or at least as much as he's able to. And what's more; the feeling is mutual."

"I refuse to believe that," Arthur said. "Matthew is not stupid, and he knows history as well as we do. Ivan's attentions may have flattered him, since he is so scared of being forgotten, and yes, maybe he developed a schoolboy crush on him, but it is inconceivable that it could be more than that. There is nothing remotely lovable about Ivan. He is neither affectionate, nor caring, nor particularly refined. On the contrary, he is an insufferable egomaniac, a brute and at times quite insane. He's probably amused by Matthew's childish affection, and he's toying with him. There's a pattern to Ivan's relationships with other nations, and Matthew fits right into it. You're a fool not to see that."

"Arthur," Francis said, sounding exasperated and faintly amused, "don't try to teach _me_ anything about romance. I already know everything, and you may believe me when I'm telling you that there really is something between Ivan and Mathieu. Something other than misled admiration and a game to amuse a villain. I won't deny that Ivan is one – a villain. But even the worst of us are capable of love."

"That may be true, but if Ivan's idea of love is oppressing and hurting his loved ones, then I don't want him to love my son."

"He won't hurt Matthew."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I spoke to him. On the way to Tokyo. And you know what he said to me? _'I can't risk hurting him. There's nothing noble about shielding a loved one from harm, when you yourself are the greatest threat to his safety.' _He _knows_, Arthur. And he is so afraid of losing control around Mathieu that he has been on tiptoes for months, maybe even years."

Arthur considered this for a moment, then shook his head dubiously. "I find that hard to believe. I've known Ivan for a long time and I don't think he has changed all that much…"

Francis sighed heavily and suddenly reached out, wrapping an arm lightly about Arthur's waist and stroking his cheek with the other hand. "You are _so_ stubborn, _mon amour_. Always have been. Why do you insist on thinking the worst of Ivan when I have told you that I believe in his sincerity?"

"Maybe I'm careful?" Arthur countered, once he had recovered from the shock of Francis' sudden closeness.

"Being careful is good, but I think you're overreacting."

"It is _Ivan_ we are talking about. Russia…"

"Arthur," Francis asked, blue eyes staring into his with a frightening intensity, "do you trust me?"

"Ridiculous," Arthur huffed, trying to ignore the fact that Francis still had an arm wrapped around him and that the Frenchman's other hand was now resting on his shoulder. He was definitely too close for comfort. "I trust you about as far as I could throw you!"

Francis chuckled, and it was that merry, bubbly sound that had intoxicated so many of his hapless victims. "We shall try that another time," he said. "For now, though, I'm asking you to have some faith, please… in me, and in our son. Do you really think that I would allow Mathieu to follow this path if I believed that I might lead him to his own ruin?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't know." Francis' presence, the warmth of his body, the smell of his cologne, that hand on his shoulder… all those things were distracting him. It was hard to think straight

"You do not have a very high opinion of me," Francis pouted.

Arthur snorted. "I know you too well!"

"Alas… I do believe you're right."

"Hum. So what _if_ I decided to believe you about Ivan and Matthew? Where would that leave us?"

"_Us_, Arthur? Well, I don't know… considering the fact that you are in my arms now rather than in Alfred's, I'd say that we are getting back on track…"

"Idiot." Arthur rolled his eyes. "You know that that was not what I meant." He was not entirely comfortable with the turn their conversation had taken but tried to hide his apprehension.

"You miss me Arthur, don't you?" Francis laughed delightedly.

Arthur swallowed hard. "I… er…", he faltered.

Long fingers affectionately stroked his cheek. "Come on… you can admit it. There need to be no secrets between us."

Arthur jerked his head away, his cheeks burning. "Yes," he replied gruffly, "yes, maybe I miss you. Sometimes. As I am sure you miss me sometimes. That is quite normal for estranged couples, but it does not mean that I will ever let you manipulate me."

Francis smiled. "But you already have, _mon amour._ You just didn't realize it." He bent forward, his lips brushing Arthur's in the briefest of kisses that gave him no time to react. "As long as you still love me, I will always be able to manipulate you, and you do still love me."

Arthur tried to protest that statement, denial already on the tip of his tongue, but the words escaped his grasp. He had never been a good liar.

Francis chuckled, observing his inner struggle.

Neither of them noticed Alfred watching them from beneath half closed lids.

* * *

_* Germany maintains a rather strict policy on dual citizenship. Generally speaking, if you are German and apply for the citizenship of another country, say South Africa, you automatically lose your German citizenship. It is possible to obtain a permit to keep your German citizenship, but you have to prove that you would incur severe disadvantages if you were not allowed to have both nationalities. Also, a foreigner wishing to obtain the German citizenship usually has to drop his other citizenship (there are exceptions to this rule, for example regarding Moroccans, since it is not possible to get rid of your Moroccan nationality, it sticks to you no matter what you do). Although legislation has changed in the past few years, especially regarding the nationalities of other EU-states, the principle of avoiding dual citizenship is still upheld._


	2. Prussia & Austria: Wake-Up Call

Light was slowly seeping into his dream, a pale, gray, cool light. Winter light, he thought drowsily, and a strange melancholy filled him at the thought. Roderich had always liked winter. It was a time of contemplation, a time of rest, of dreams and dreamy thoughts… a time of solitude, too, for a man who had spent too many winters alone by the fire in his splendid mansion, with only his music and his books to keep him company. _"Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr. Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben, und wird in den Alleen hin und her  
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben…"_

And yet… he was not alone now. He could feel the presence of another living being close by, the warmth radiating off a sleeping body, soft, tingling breath brushing against his neck and left cheek.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes, looking up at the white, impersonal ceiling. Not the ceiling of his own bedroom, certainly. This one was unfamiliar, and he instinctively felt that neither he nor the person lying next to him belonged here. Speaking of which… he cautiously turned his head a little, peeking at the other from the corner of his eye.

He caught sight of feathery soft white hair, unruly and ruffled, and gleaming silvery even in the grey winter light. Long, colorless lashes fluttered against milky pale skin as the dreamer gave a soft sigh in his sleep and shifted slightly.

Roderich held his breath, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Not only was he amazed by the fact that Gilbert actually managed to keep quiet for more than five minutes, but it also occurred to him that he had never in his life seen anyone who looked so beautiful, so perfect, so utterly breathtaking in his sleep.

And Roderich had seen quite a few nations asleep:  
He had had ample time to observe both Antonio and Elizaveta while they slept. Antonio usually looked relaxed, his mouth hanging slightly open, and sometimes he smiled in his dreams. Elizaveta looked angry, her fists tightly clenched, her face crunched, as if she was struggling against something, fighting of the forces of darkness in her sleep. Of the other nations, Feliciano looked adorable, Arthur suffered from violent nightmares, always thrashing and turning and twisting (if he was not drunk and passed out), Alfred slept like a baby, drooling, Francis didn't appear to think that beds were made to sleep in them (at least Roderich had never seen him do so), and Ludwig slept like he did everything else – calm, concentrated and focused.

Gilbert, though…. _Mein Gott…!_ He was beautiful. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him, and Roderich never wanted him to wake up, never wanted him to open those startling red eyes, never wanted to see his face twist into the awful, cynical smile, the bitter smile, the one that hurt so much…

Gilbert's eyelids fluttered, and he caught a glimmer of red beneath them. Roderich thought that this was probably the ideal time to get out of bed and as far away from him as possible – and _fast_ – but he lay as if frozen.

Gilbert opened his eyes a bit farther. He lay perfectly still, gazing at Roderich from those sleepy, heavy lidded eyes without making a sound. Roderich was beginning to wonder whether he was even awake. Some people slept with their eyes open, or so he had heard.

"Are you even awake?" He whispered.

Gilbert blinked. It was a slow, deliberate sort of movement.

"I'll take that as a yes," Roderich muttered.

"Sch," Gilbert whispered, "You'll scare away the dream."

This was getting a little too weird for his taste. "One of us had too much to drink last night," he concluded. "And I'm beginning to suspect that it was me." At least he had a headache to match.

A brief flicker of dismay crossed Gilbert's face and he propped himself up on his elbows abruptly. "Don't you remember?" He asked, sounding faintly concerned.

"What should I remember?" Roderich asked, trying to ignore the dull throb inside his head. Then a sudden thought struck him. "_Jesus, Maria…! _Tell me we didn't…?"

Gilbert stared at him, frowned, then laughed uneasily. "You… oh…! No, of course not, silly. I just stayed with you because West asked me to. I didn't mean to fall asleep, either. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Roderich said quickly, trying to ignore his flushed cheeks. "So what happened?"

"You passed out during the meeting. Right in the conference room. It was all rather dramatic, everybody was making a big fuss, and West had to carry you upstairs. Ivan offered to do it, but I wouldn't let him." His face twisted into a scowl. "I would never let him touch you. Or anybody else, not if I can help it. It's bad enough to see him with Mattie…"

Roderich found Gilbert's protectiveness to be endearing, even if it wasn't solely focused on him. Yet… "Ludwig had to carry me?"

"Yup." Gilbert nodded. "You were out cold. Rather gave us all a scare, Roddy."

"I… oh… well, I didn't mean to."

Gilbert was still staring down at him, and Roderich felt his mouth go dry. "What's the matter with you?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea."

_Liar_, he thought disgustedly. Of course he knew what was happening to him. And it felt somewhat unfair to lie to Gilbert, who apparently cared enough to stay with him and watch over him, but Roderich felt that he had no other choice. He could not let the Prussian know why he had fainted, why he had lost control. It would ruin _everything._

"Where are the others?"

"Most of them have left already, since the main part of the meeting is over. Last time I checked, West, Feli, Arthur, Alfred, Francis, Mattie and Ivan were still arguing over the finer points of the agreement, but they all looked pretty exhausted. Maybe they've gone to bed by now."

"What time is it?"

Gilbert looked up and turned his head. "According to that clock over there – seven thirty in the morning." He smiled a little too brightly. "So, are you up for breakfast? Pity Mattie hates me right now; I could really do with some of those pancakes."

Somehow that statement filled Roderich's mind with the ridiculous wish to make Gilbert a large stack of golden pancakes and watch him eat them. He shook his head slightly. God, he really had to do something about this silly infatuation of his. It was going to be his undoing one of these days.

Gilbert stretched and yawned, and Roderich watched him, watched that slender, almost thin body move fluidly, watched the long, muscular limbs stretch, the eerie glow of the pale, pale skin in the dim morning light. The yearning had become an almost physical ache by now, and Roderich knew that he was tired of waiting. It seemed so pointless, too. True, there were moments like this one, when Gilbert was a friend, well-behaved, soft spoken, even gentle… but they were rare. Usually, he was overbearing, loud, annoying, deliberately infuriating, raucous, angry… a real bastard, sometimes. Well actually, make that most of the time.

* * *

They had breakfast in the cafeteria, and were soon joined by Ludwig, who looked dead tired and hardly spoke at all. A hushed atmosphere surrounded their table, since even Gilbert was strangely subdued that morning.

"So you are going to be babysitting Mattie and Ivan, huh?" He asked between two bites of toast. The question came out somewhat muffled.

Roderich glanced at Ludwig, waiting for the customary scolding, something along the lines of _'don't talk with your mouth full'_, but Ludwig seemed too tired to care.

He shrugged. "It would appear so."

"Well, better you than somebody like Francisco or Feli," Gilbert commented, reaching for his cup of coffee. "They'd be way too lenient. Of course, you don't stand a fighting chance against Ivan, but since he's sort of on probation, I guess he'll behave himself." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "At least I'd advise him to do so. I'll be the first to join Alfred's crusade if Ivan oversteps the line."

"It'll be alright," Roderich said with more confidence than he actually felt. "Ivan adores Matthew. That should count for something."

"Hm." Gilbert did not seem convinced. He turned towards his brother. "Is Feli still upset?"

Ludwig raised his head, frowning. "Apparently. Sometimes I don't understand him. It's not such a big deal, is it?"

"To him it is," Gilbert said. "And you could have told him that you weren't going to come. He was waiting for you all evening and half the night. He finally fell asleep on the carpet in front of the tree. That wasn't a very nice thing to do, West. He was so excited… and he did have a surprise planned for you."

Ludwig sighed. "Yes, well, that's one reason why I'm glad I _wasn't _there."

Gilbert snorted. "You're _such_ a pansy, West. He loves you."

"I love him, too, just not… that way." Ludwig looked somewhat helpless. "And he just won't believe me."

"Yeah, well, that might be due to the fact that you're not entirely convinced yourself. You're trying to tell yourself and everybody else that you're not attracted to him, because it wouldn't fit into your picture."

"Can we please not discuss my non-existent love life at breakfast?" Ludwig asked, sounding exasperated.

"I think it needs to be discussed," his brother retorted cheerfully, "look, West, you just have to…"

"Gilbert," Ludwig warned, his voice low, "one more word, and I'm going to retaliate."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Gilbert laughed depreciatively. "Keep practicing."

"Well, I suppose, we _could_ discuss _your_ problem for a change," Ludwig said, unsmiling. He sent his brother a pointed look, then slowly turned his head in direction of Roderich.

"You wouldn't dare!" Gilbert hissed.

"Watch me."

"Could you please stop bickering?" Roderich groaned. His headache wasn't getting any better, listening to them argue. Nor was he particularly interested in hearing about Gilbert's problem, whatever it was that he had gotten himself into this time. Ludwig would sort it out. Roderich had absolute confidence in Ludwig's ability to reign his brother in. "One would think you were too old for sibling's rivalry."

"Oh Roddy, you have no idea," Gilbert said with a lopsided grin, shaking his head. "Be glad you don't have any siblings. They are almost as bad as ambitious neighbors."

"Or, in your case – worse. Despite his best efforts, France never gave me as much trouble as you did," Ludwig replied.

"Awww, West, I _do _feel sorry for you," Gilbert drawled. "Poor baby."

Ludwig rolled his eyes and began to methodically dissect a croissant.

* * *

"_Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr. Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben, und wird in den Alleen hin und her unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben…" – the last verse of a poem called „Herbsttag" (Autumn Day) written by Rainer Maria Rilke. __It's one of my favorites… and it's too beautiful to translate. Sorry. If you're really that curious, learn German. I know it's a terribly difficult language and sounds like a faucal disease, but trust me, the poetry makes up for that. The gist of those lines is that when you're alone in autumn, you'll spend winter in solitude, too, reading, writing, wandering restlessly, waiting._


	3. Prussia & Austria: Little White Lies

"Mattie left," Gilbert announced, bouncing into the room with his usual energetic step. Ludwig groggily raised his head from the paper he had been staring at rather than reading it.

"Great," he replied laconically. "Does that mean we finally get to leave, too?"

"Well yes, unless you've got anything else to do in Washington?"

"God forbid." Ludwig yawned. "I want to go home."

"… and curl up with your pet Italian in front of the TV?" Gilbert asked, grinning. "That's not gonna happen, West. Not unless you apologize to him for ruining Christmas. He went to Tonio's to sulk, and that's _never_ a good sign."

"How do you know?" Ludwig asked.

"I talked to Tonio about two hours ago. I'm telling you, the only way out of this is to beg Feli's forgiveness. And he will forgive you, he always does."

Ludwig made a noncommittal sound, folded the paper and got up, brushing wrinkles out of his clothing. "Where's Roderich?"

"Getting his luggage and arguing with Arthur. He's taking his job as Mattie's chaperone seriously and Arthur is in a very grumpy mood right now."

"Arthur is notoriously bad-tempered," Ludwig said, "which is one of the reasons why I don't envy Roderich right now. I am still trying to understand why he volunteered to do this."

"Me, too," Gilbert replied thoughtfully. "And I don't particularly like this scheme you all cooked up last night. It puts Roderich right between Ivan and the rest of the world and that's not exactly the safest place to be."

He looked genuinely worried, and Ludwig, being the good brother that he was, couldn't resist the urge to try and comfort him. It was stupid, really. Gilbert rarely needed to be comforted, and his erratic behavior towards Roderich was not something Ludwig liked to support by making him feel better. And yet… "As long as he doesn't put himself between Ivan and Matthew, he should be fine," he said.

"That's exactly what worries me – what if he has to? I don't trust Ivan, not at all."

"Give him some credit, brother. He saved your life once," Ludwig reminded him.

"Only because it served his purpose at the time," Gilbert replied. "Which is as good a reason as anything else, I suppose, but I know Ivan a little too well to believe in his redemption."

"I think he genuinely cares about Matthew," Ludwig said.

"So do I," Gilbert replied to his surprise. "But this being Ivan, that just isn't enough to make me feel happy about this entire thing. I know that Ivan is capable of love. I also know that he's capable of hurting the people he loves."

"Aren't we all?" Ludwig muttered, thinking about the unhappy little Italian, and about the expression on Roderich's face after Gilbert had blatantly refused his very generous offer to come and live with him after the fall of the Berlin wall.

"I'm pretty sure that you never even thought of anything involving Feliciano, lots of alcohol, a couple of spectators, a length of rope, a table and an antique pipe, and no, you do not want to know what Ivan did with that pipe. It would definitely put you off smoking for good, though. By the way, the person of interest in that case was Toris. He spent about a month in a private hospital in Moscow after that. Ivan set him flowers and candy every day, but he never came to visit. Feliks replaced Toris as Ivan's companion during that time, and he'd come to Liz or me crying and swearing that he'd never go back more than once. But of course, he always did go back. He was at Ivan's beck and call, we all were." Gilbert shook his head. "Ivan is seriously, seriously messed up, brother. It may not even be his fault, but it sure as hell makes him dangerous to others. And I fear for Mattie."

There wasn't much you could say in reply to that, Ludwig supposed.

* * *

Roderich joined them a little while later, a silver suitcase and a displeased looking Brit in tow.

"Hey, Arthur," Gilbert called out to him brightly. "You look like shit. Did you sleep at all?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Arthur replied irritably, "but what's it to you? Just go home, Gilbert. You weren't supposed to be here in the first place."

"My, aren't you charming when you are sleep-deprived," Gilbert replied, grinning. "No wonder Francis dumped you. He doesn't deal well with negative emotion and you're such a well of negative emotion."

"Shut up, Gilbert," Arthur said wearily, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "God, I need sleep. Be glad you never decided to raise children, all three of you. There's nothing worse than being a parent." After a brief moment's consideration, he added: "Well, maybe there is: being a parent when the other parent is _Francis_, of all people."

"You should go to bed, Arthur," Roderich said not unkindly. "In fact, I think that's were all of us are headed." And after a sharp look at Gilbert, who had just opened his mouth to make a sly comment, he said: "Our _own_ respective beds, Gilbert. I wasn't offering to share one with you."

"Awww, Roddy, you wound me. Besides, you already did that once today."

"Involuntarily," Roderich said immediately when he caught Arthur's and Ludwig's curious looks. "Because you fell asleep on my bed, while you were supposed to be watching me."

"At least I didn't try to steal your pillow," Gilbert replied, winking at him. "Come on, boys! There's an airplane waiting for us."

* * *

They were flying commercial and the next flight with available first or business class seats (both Ludwig and Roderich hated to fly economy, one because he needed to stretch his long legs and the other because of his pride) was a Lufthansa flight to Munich. Roderich had already arranged for a car and driver to pick him up on his arrival.

"You're welcome to stay with us and rest," Ludwig told him on the way to the airport, but the Austrian shook his head. "No, I need to get home. If I'm going to be Ivan's and Matthew's chaperon, I need to make some arrangements."

"While you're at it - inviting our Swiss cousin over, whenever Ivan is paying you a visit would be a good idea. At least Vash is usually armed," Gilbert said.

"I can deal with Ivan, Gilbert."

"Like hell you can. He'll crush you like a pretty flower. You're the worst possible choice for this job, except maybe Toris or Feliciano."

"Oh, you have such a high opinion of me, don't you?" Roderich huffed, sounding somewhat offended.

"I'm merely being realistic," Gilbert replied, shrugging.

"Fine. Why don't _you_ come over and _protect_ me whenever Ivan is paying me a visit, then?" Roderich asked acidly.

Gilbert looked at him thoughtfully for about half a minute, seriously considering that idea. "You know, I might just do that. It'd give me a chance to rain on Ivan's plans now and then, and I sure wouldn't mind that."

"Why do you derive such enjoyment from being a nuisance to others?" Roderich wondered aloud. He was clearly upset now. Gilbert had a unique ability to drive the Austrian up the figurative wall, and he was practicing it right now. Ludwig sighed inwardly, because he – as opposed to Roderich – had recognized his brother's offer of protection for what it really was: a gesture of affection, albeit a well disguised one.

Luckily they were both spared Gilbert's answer to Roderich's last statement, because their car had arrived at the airport.

* * *

Apart from writing one apologetic text message to Feliciano just before their plane took off, Ludwig spent most of the plane ride asleep. He unconsciously rested his head on his brother's shoulder, but Gilbert did not seem to mind. Gilbert wasn't a very tactile person, nor was Ludwig, but they were brothers after all.

The Prussian himself was wide awake, mulling over the events at the conference, and more importantly, Roderich's sudden fainting spell. Gilbert would have rather bitten his tongue off than admit it, but that unexpected sign of weakness had freaked him out. To be sure, Roderich had always been a rather fragile creature, especially for the personification of a nation that had been more or less stable for the most part of its national existence. Yet this was unprecedented. And there seemed to be no rational explanation for it.

While Roderich had been asleep, Gilbert had accessed every available source of information to bring himself up to date on Austria's current affairs, but there was nothing that should have affected Roderich this strongly. Given the current economic crisis, other nations like Antonio or the two Italians had far more reason to feel unwell.

And Roderich insisted that he did not remember what had happened to him or why… Gilbert felt pretty sure he was lying, though. But as to why he was lying – who knew? He had the sickening feeling that it was important for him to know, however.

In the quiet of his own mind, Gilbert felt safe enough to admit to himself how deeply he cared about Roderich. Sometimes the idea frightened him, but most of the time it was just annoying and frustrating, like a constant itch that had been following him around for too many tedious years. And despite his expectations, his concern and affection for Roderich had grown rather than diminished over the years. Gilbert wrote that off to boredom. After all, his existence had been rather miserable for the past century or so.

Besides, what could he do about it? Realizing that the love of your life would likely remain forever inaccessible kind of sucked. Confessing his feeling to Roderich and being rejected would have been even worse.

There had been a point sometime during the last decade when Gilbert would have almost made a pass at Matthew and slept with him merely to gouge Roderich's reaction. But that would have been unfair to Matthew, who only wanted to be loved and remembered, and who was one of his best friends. And even though the Canadian was rather cute, he really wasn't Gilbert's type. He was to shy, to complacent. Gilbert preferred his man to be more confident and self-assured. He needed a bit of opposition (or a lot of opposition), otherwise he quickly grew bored. Which was why he felt so drawn towards Roderich. No one, not even Francis or Ivan had ever presented him with such a challenge. With Ivan, everything was territorial, and Francis just liked to play his games, but Roderich fought back out of sheer spite, and Gilbert admired that.

_You're prickly like a porcupine, Roddy. Albeit a very pretty one_, Gilbert thought, casting the dozing Austrian a sideways glance. Roderich wasn't sleeping, he never truly relaxed around Gilbert, never let down his guard, but it was obvious that he was still affected by whatever had caused him to faint.

He eyes were closed, long lashes fluttering uneasily against his marble cheeks, but there was still some tension left in his body.

Just out of curiosity, and because he loved to test his boundaries, Gilbert dropped his right hand, cool fingers brushing across Roderich's wrist. From beneath half closed lids he watched the Austrian stir in surprise, but when he realized that Gilbert kept his hand perfectly still where it was, Roderich apparently wrote the unexpected touch off to sleepiness. He relaxed back into his chair, sighing softly. Gilbert smiled faintly.

He waited another couple of minutes before moving his hand so it lay next to Roderich's, their fingers barely brushing. Maybe it was just his imagination, but there seemed to be some sort of electric current flowing from the tip of his fingers to Roderich's and back, and the sensation fascinated him, so he spent the rest of the flight analyzing it. At some point, Roderich actually did fall asleep, but Gilbert did not mind that. In fact, it was even better this way. Carefully as to not wake the Austrian, he moved his hand again and entwined his fingers with Roderich's. The strange sensation intensified briefly, and then calmed down to a pleasant feeling of warmth that spread through his entire body.

_Curious_, Gilbert thought.


	4. Prussia & Austria: Valentine's Day

_I was planning on posting the seperate chapters of IR in chronological order, but since I have been to busy to write much lately, it just seemed cruel to make you wait for this. I guess I'll just have to shift the chapters around a bit later on.  
So here is the second part of the Valentine's Day entertainments for you, this time from Roderich's POV. Beware of fluff._

* * *

Spending an entire evening watching Ivan and Matthew dance, laugh and flirt was not exactly Roderich's idea of a good time. Of course, he reminded himself, he had volunteered for this. And he probably should have been content, since so far, their first _official _meeting (never mind Mattie's trip to Moscow) under his supervision had turned out rather well. Ivan was surprisingly cheerful, and it did not look as if he was going to do anything terrible to Matthew or anybody else anytime soon. Matthew himself seemed happy enough, so there was absolutely nothing to complain or worry about.

Roderich idly toyed with his napkin, wondering why he was incapable of simply enjoying a surprisingly quiet evening. The food had been superb, they had carried on a lively, not unpleasant conversation, and now he was listening to a decent, if barely more than amateur orchestra playing music that was associated with so many fond memories… he should have been content. But he was not.

He watched Ivan hold Matthew close, as if he was some precious, fragile thing, watched them move across the dance floor with surprising grace for such an ill-matched pair, and he wished he could be there, too. Not with Ivan or Matthew, even though they had both offered, apparently taking pity in him. Roderich hated people pitying him.

_I suppose Gilbert and I have that in common, if little else._

Thinking of Gilbert hurt even more acutely, because Roderich had allowed himself to hope for a moment. Matthew's words had shone a ray of light into the dull, grey emptiness of boredom and regret that had invaded his life. But that light had flickered out like a dying candle. Gilbert wasn't here. He wasn't here, and he would not come.

_And you should have known that, fool! You know him well enough. So stop whining and feeling sorry for yourself, you can't change Gilbert any more than you can change your own heart._

Morosely, he watched Ivan and Matthew four-step around the room. They had their own troubles and difficulties, to be sure, but right now they looked so happy.

_It seems that happiness is not for me, though. I have been given so much, I should not complain. Beauty and music, and power and peace… prosperity, accomplishments, friendship and a high social standing. But never true happiness. Maybe I am not made for happiness._

He noticed that Ivan and Matthew had fallen out of step and turned towards the door, and followed their gazes with mild curiosity. There was a slight commotion near the door, as somebody was making his way through the maze of tables, approaching slowly but steadily.

Roderich felt a strangled sound escape his throat and closed his eyes to calm himself. _No. It cannot be… Gilbert?_

He re-opened his eyes, but the Prussian had not disappeared like the vision he should have been. In fact, he was only two tables away now. Roderich slowly rose from his chair. He found that he had nothing more intelligent to say then _What are you doing here?_ and decided to keep his mouth shut. Which might not have been such a good idea, because the first thing Gilbert said, before even saying hello, was: "You look completely miserable, Roddy."

Roderich bit his lip just in time before the words "I am" could escape him.

"Music that bad?" Gilbert asked, cocking his head as he listened to the players for a moment. He shrugged. "Come on, surely you've heard worse. They're amateurs, to be sure, but they're making a valiant effort."

There was something surreal about this situation, Roderich decided. "What are you doing here, Gilbert?" He finally asked.

Gilbert blinked, as if taken aback by the question. Apparently it hadn't crossed his mind that Roderich might be surprised to see him… but then, Gilbert's mind worked in strange ways, and not just because he was no longer a nation.

"Well, it was _your _suggestion that I come by whenever you're babysitting Ivan and Mattie," Gilbert pointed out rather defensively.

Roderich was about to make a snide remark, when the Prussian added in a quieter, almost embarrassed tone of voice: "Actually, that's not why I'm here."

"Oh?" Roderich raised his brows, trying to douse the flicker of hope that had sprung up at Gilbert's last statement. Hope was a treacherous thing.

Gilbert shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly nervous now. "You're deliberately making this hard on me," he complained.

"No, I just don't want there to be any… miscommunications between us." _Because God forbid that this is one of your jokes and I fall prey to ridicule for admitting my feelings…_

"Alright then," Gilbert said after a moment of hesitation, "your hand, if you please."

Roderich stared at him. "Are you…?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "No, I am not asking you to marry me. Yes, I did just ask for the next dance." Strong, slender fingers grasped his hand in a determined grip. Roderich's head spun. Numbly he let Gilbert lead him onto the dance floor, all the time wondering where this was supposed to go.

"Why are you doing this, Gilbert?"

"Because I want to. Now shut up and put your other hand where it belongs."

_Where it belongs_. The words echoed in Roderich's mind, filling him with a sort of incredulous awe and joy, as he placed his left hand on Gilbert's upper arm. _Is this where I belong? Can it be…?_

He felt the gentle pressure of Gilbert's right hand against his left shoulder blade. "Ready?"

_As ready as I'll ever be… I'm dreaming. This has to be a dream. Stuff like this doesn't happen in the real world, and my Prussian nemesis did not just change into a chivalrous lover…_

Roderich moved through the familiar motions of the dance with absolute ease, but he was stunned to see how smooth and graceful his partner moved with him. Not only did Gilbert know all the steps, but he also managed to take the lead with a partner who was not used to following.

"I didn't know you danced," Roderich commented quietly. "I've never seen you dance before."

"There are a lot of things you've never seen me do, I'd wager," Gilbert replied, and there was something suggestive about his low tone of voice. "Besides, you know what they say about people who are good dancers… that they are good fighters, and good lovers. Since I excel in both disciplines, it's only reasonable that I should be a good dancer, too, isn't it?"

Roderich snorted. "Your ego always _was_ bigger than your country. I see that hasn't changed."

"Ah, come on, Roddy. You know I'm right. We've fought often enough, for me to prove my prowess. And as for the rest… well, you never gave me a chance to prove it to you."

"I don't remember you ever asking for one," Roderich replied, looking straight into those startling red eyes. Their intense gaze was more than a little discomforting.

"Maybe you just didn't listen closely enough," Gilbert murmured, his voice tinged with regret.

"Maybe I didn't," Roderich acknowledged. "And even if I did, it would have been imprudent. I'm not Francis or you. I don't do casual love affairs."

"You're such a prude." Gilbert shook his head and loosened his grip as the last notes of the piece faded away.

"I'm not. I'm just not stupid."

"Hey! In my own name and in that of Francis I must protest! We're not idiots; we just like to have a good time. You're as prickly as Romano. He hates it when Antonio goes clubbing with us."

"With good reason, I assume. One of you by himself is a menace, but the three of you put together is a natural disaster. Although Lovino at least has nothing to fear; Antonio has been utterly obsessed with him since he was still in diapers."

"How does it feel to be married to a pedophile?" Gilbert joked, lights dancing in his unusual eyes.

"I never married for love. That I came to esteem all of my spouses and love at least one of them was purely coincidental," Roderich replied haughtily. Gilbert was still very close and it was making him nervous. He had yet to explain why he was here tonight.

"Do you know that Fritz wanted to marry Maria-Theresia?" Gilbert asked softly. "It was a fleeting notion, and it probably sprung from desperation, because he very badly wanted to get away from his father and the court when he was young, but he even proposed to renounce his claim to the throne in return."

_Yes, and what if the king and the emperor had given their consent to that union…? _Roderich wondered, briefly shuddering at the implications. He tried to mask his discomfort. "Friedrich wanted the power a marriage with Maria-Theresia would have given him, nothing else" he replied. "He was not even interested in women, so it probably didn't matter much to him which one he married."

"It mattered to me," Gilbert said laconically.

Once again, their gazes met. For a seemingly infinite amount of time, Roderich stared into the Prussian's eyes, lamenting lost chances as his world turned scarlet. Finally, he managed to tear his gaze away. It fell on Gilbert's closed lips instead, which was no better, because it made Roderich regret that he had never kissed those lips and likely never would.

_It's the tragedy of my position_, he thought. _I can fight with you, team up with you if there is a common cause, even dance with you as it is; I can keep you alive, but I cannot allow myself to love you, for fear of being hurt._

"You look sad."

Damn the Prussian for being so attentive!

"Lost chances," Roderich muttered, because he couldn't bring himself to lie to Gilbert, not while they were this close. "They never come back."

"Which is why you should grant me another dance," Gilbert suggested. "Might be your last chance, who knows?"

Roderich had to smile at that. _Sly, Gilbert, very sly._

"Alright," he agreed amiably. "But if there is no difference in gender, it is usually the better dancer who takes the lead."

"And what makes you think that you are the better dancer?"

"Years of experience and the fact that I watched the composer of these dancers grow up. I stood behind him when he wrote this music. Trust me on this."

"Show me," Gilbert challenged, grinning.

"With pleasure," Roderich replied, reversing their positions. "Relax," he told the Prussian almost gently, noticing the tension in his posture, "I know you hate to give in, but this is not a fight for dominance."

"Oh?" Gilbert raised his brows. "Parallels, Roddy, parallels. If dancing is like fighting and making love, then it makes a huge difference who's in charge."

"Dancing isn't about being in charge," Roderich argued, smoothly leading Gilbert across the floor. It felt a little less awkward, now that he was in his usual role. Or maybe he was just getting used to the feeling of Gilbert's body against his…? "Besides… how do you know what role I would prefer in those departments?"

"I'd say the fact that your past partners include Antonio and Elizaveta, who are both pretty bossy in the bedroom, is a pretty good indication." Gilbert was smirking now.

Roderich's brain took a moment to process this statement. "You slept with Antonio?"

"Once or twice. Relax. It was after you divorced him, and it meant nothing."

"I didn't assume…." Roderich began, before he decided that it would be wise to change the subject.

Gilbert chuckled softly. "Oh, you're priceless, Roddy, you know that?"

* * *

After that they were silent for the rest of the dance, and the next. Roderich was lost in his thoughts and in the sensation of feeling Gilbert move with him, the warmth of his skin, his smell, his disturbing, alien beauty.

_This is why I should never have agreed to this in the first place. It just feels too good to have you so close, to hold you, like you are mine… as if you ever could be._

"I need a drink," Gilbert said after their third dance. He was slightly out of breath and his usually pale cheeks looked almost rosy.

"Of course." Roderich fell back into his habitual politeness, drawing it around him like a protective shield. He let go of Gilbert and looked around. He had temporarily forgotten all about Matthew and Ivan, which now proved a fateful mistake.

"Where did they go?"

"Who?"

"Ivan and Matthew. They were dancing. Now I can't see them anymore." A suspicion rose within him and he turned back to Gilbert, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. This wasn't a trick, was it?"

"Huh?" Gilbert looked surprised. "What… no! God, no. What are you thinking, that I would let my worst enemy abduct one of my best friends?!"

"It's only an abduction if the other participant isn't willing, and knowing Matthew, he would have been very willing. It was probably his idea." Roderich inwardly cursed himself. "I should not have taken my eyes of them. I'm their chaperone, for heaven's sake! They are my responsibility."

… _and Ivan could be hurting Matthew right now, _his mind supplied unhelpfully. _He could be beating him to pulp, or raping him, or worse… is there anything worse? Well, if there is, Ivan has probably done it before… how could I be this irresponsible?_

"Can you find them?" Gilbert asked.

Roderich hung his head. "It would be pure luck. It's not as if I put some sort of tracking device on them."

"Well, maybe you should."

"… and my people won't realize who they are, unless they reveal themselves."

"Okay," Gilbert said slowly. "So now you've got two choices. You can turn your city upside down, trying to find them, which will probably cause a mess, cost you all night and lead to nothing but attracting unwanted attention."

"Oh, great," Roderich said unenthusiastically. "You are a huge help, Gilbert, thank you."

"Or," the Prussian continued unperturbed, "you can go home with me and wait until they turn up on your doorstep, hoping that everything will be alright and that they don't do anything stupid. I won't breathe a word of it to Alfred and Arthur, and you can bet your pretty head on it that Matthew and Ivan won't tell on you, either."

Roderich looked up in surprise. "I thought you'd be mad at me for letting them slip away, and that you'd want to tear everything apart, looking for them."

Gilbert shook his head. "That wouldn't help much, would it? Besides, it's sort of my fault, too. I didn't look, either."

"We did a pretty good job at distracting each other, huh?" Roderich asked, sighing.

Gilbert smiled. "Well, you are very distracting…"

"I'm not sure that's a compliment," Roderich muttered.

"It is." Gilbert said, raising the Austrian's hand to his lips in an archaic gesture that made Roderich shudder with suppressed delight. It was a very, very bad idea to take Gilbert home.

He did it anyway.

* * *

"Play for me?" Gilbert suggested when they had arrived at the house and Roderich was standing in the middle of his beloved music room, nervously wringing his hands.

It was a surprisingly thoughtful proposal, because music always calmed Roderich, and right now he was very agitated.

Roderich shrugged and slid onto the piano stool. "Is there anything in particular you would like to hear?"

"Whatever comes to mind. I've never heard you play something that wasn't beautiful, so I guess it doesn't matter, right?"

Gilbert's approach to music was obviously a little different than his.

Roderich briefly closed his eyes, before playing the first chords of Franz Joseph Haydn's Piano Sonata No. 52 in G major.

He did not hear Gilbert step closer, but he felt his presence. It was a tribute to his composure that he did not miss a key when he felt the Prussian's hand on his shoulder, light as a feather. To his surprise, Gilbert kept it there for the rest of the piece. They listened to the last note of the sonata disappear into silence, before either of them spoke again.

"Are you feeling better now?" Gilbert asked.

"A little," Roderich admitted, "I still want to beat myself over the head with something heavy for letting them out of my sight, though."

Gilbert added a second hand to the first and began massaging his shoulders, the motions not nearly as soothing as they were probably intended to be. But Gilbert had no way of knowing how badly Roderich wanted him, and it _was_ a nice gesture.

"Let's just hope that Ivan sticks to his New Year's resolutions," Gilbert said. "And anyway, there's not much you could do right now."

Roderich leant back into his touch with a sigh. This felt way too good. It was almost indecent.

"Why are you here, Gilbert?"

"Because I want to be," the Prussian replied stubbornly.

"And why do you want to be here?"

Gilbert's hands froze. Dead silence reigned between them for a minute or two.

"Just how dense are you, Roddy?" Gilbert finally asked.

"I can't read your mind, if that's what you're asking," Roderich replied tersely.

Gilbert sighed and put his arms around him, resting his chin on Roderich's shoulder. Roderich held his breath.

"It seems that I do need to spell it out for you. I want you, plainly speaking. And now that I finally have some indication that you're not totally averse to the idea, I'm taking my chances. Maybe it's stupid. But I had to… I don't know… I don't know how much time I've got left. I need to do things now, or I'll never do them." His voice was very low, and Roderich felt his heart constrict painfully at the implications of those words.

"You have all the time you need," he whispered and the next moment cursed himself for not biting his tongue.

_He must not know._

In a somewhat desperate resolution, he turned and pulled the Prussian down onto the piano stool with him for that kiss he had wanted for too long a time. Gilbert was too surprised to respond at first, but when he did, it was with all the passion and intensity Roderich had longed for.

When the kiss ended, they looked at each other, a little dazed and somewhat incredulous.

"It's real, isn't it?" Gilbert asked hesitantly.

"Feels that way," Roderich said, wondering what had happened, and why it hadn't happened long ago.

"Huh. I never thought I…"

"Hush," Roderich laid a finger on his lips. "Do me a favor, Gilbert. Don't say anything incredibly stupid and ruin my moment. Please."

Gilbert's lips curved into a mischievous smile, and Roderich felt ready to fall in love with him again, just for that smile. There was no trace of the usual bitterness in it. "Kiss me again?" He suggested. "Then I can't talk, after all…"

That made Roderich laugh despite himself. "You are _so _manipulative."

"And don't you love it." Gilbert grinned. "I've always been able to manipulate you."

_Yes, you have. But it goes both ways…_

"It's getting late," he said. "I don't know about you, but I don't think a sleepless night will help me deal with Ivan. I'm going to shout at him and I doubt he'll like it."

"I'd like to see that. Can I stay?"

Roderich looked up. "Will you be able to keep your hands to yourself?"

"Truthfully? No, probably not."

Roderich shook his head, sighing. "Why did I know you were going to say that?"

"Do you want me to leave?" Gilbert asked sheepishly.

"No. But you should go anyway."

_Because right now, I'm vulnerable and tempted to spill my guts and if you stay I'm afraid that you'll learn things you're not ready to hear. I don't want to ruin everything. I can't… I can't lose you._

"Alright," Gilbert said, getting up. Once again, he placed a hand on Roderich's shoulder. "I'll be back."

Roderich nodded numbly. Watching Gilbert leave yet again was painful despite their recent understanding. "I know."

"Please don't let Ivan tear your head off."

"It's not funny," Roderich grumbled.

"In a way it is, Roddy. Because I have the odd feeling that I have Ivan to thank for tonight and that's so bizarre it's almost comical. Come, kiss me good-bye."

"If I kiss you now, you aren't going to leave," Roderich said matter-of-factly.

"And you are too smart for your own good. Okay." Gilbert bent down, briefly touching his lips to Roderich's front. "Sweet dreams. I'll see you soon."

Roderich watched him saunter out of the room and tried to squash the over-excited butterflies in his stomach by thinking about all the possible endings of his upcoming conversation with Ivan.


	5. Prussia & Austria: Out in the Open

Matthew's departure to his bedroom left Roderich restlessly pacing through his living room. While he didn't believe the Canadians all-too innocent claim that his little excursion with Ivan had been motivated by nothing but delicacy and the wish to uphold his end of the bargain, it certainly made sense that Matthew had engineered Gilbert's surprising arrival the night before.

_This is what you wanted, isn't it? _Roderich asked himself. _You wanted his help, because he is Gilbert's best friend._

And hadn't their little arrangement worked out rather well? At least now he and Gilbert both knew where they stood (or rather, Roderich knew where Gilbert stood; there were a lot of things he was still keeping from the Prussian).

_And where does that leave us? We've acknowledged the fact that we desire each other, and that it is quite possibly more than a purely sexual attraction, but other than that…_

If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the lingering touch of Gilbert's hand on his shoulder, as if it had left an imprint there. The press of soft, dry lips against his. _I want you._

_I want you, too, Gilbert. You have no idea just how much I want you to be mine and stay mine for the rest of our existence. I was desperate enough to gamble for the highest stakes there are, fully aware of the momentous risks I took. If only you knew. If only I could share this with you, the risk, the fear, the necessity that drove me to do it…_

Gilbert had barely been gone a few hours – two, he realized, checking the clock – and already he missed him as if they had not seen each other in weeks. He fully expected the feeling to evolve into a physical ache, into that dull, constant sensation of incompleteness he had grown so painfully accustomed to.

_I wish I was less scared. I wish I hadn't sent you away and I could just hold you in my arms now and forget all my fears. Matthew was right; I am an idiot._

Almost without thinking he walked across the room and picked up the phone, his fingers dialing the familiar number before he could stop himself.

Gilbert picked up after the third ring, which was even more surprising as he had apparently checked the display for caller ID. "What is it, Roddy?" He sounded tired. "Are you calling to wish me a good night? That's very touching." There was an undertone of resigned bitterness in his voice that Roderich did not like at all.

"No. I'm calling you to tell you to get back here."

It took Gilbert a moment of breathless silence to process that statement. "You changed your mind…?" There was an unspoken _that's not like you _in there.

"Yes. No. I never wanted you to leave… I – listen, it's complicated. Just come back. Please."

Gilbert took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay…?" Roderich echoed. "Just like that? Where are you?"

"I'm almost in Salzburg. Never mind. I'll turn around right now."

"Good." Roderich said after a moment's hesitation. "See you soon."

"You bet."

Roderich stared at the phone after he had put it down, unsure what to make of this conversation. It wasn't exactly what he had expected, if he had expected anything.

With a soft sigh he went to the kitchen to fix himself another cup of tea, but halfway through that cup he almost fell asleep in his armchair. It was four o'clock in the morning and he had not slept that night. He put down the cup and went upstairs to his bedroom, changing into his nightclothes in a sleepy routine.

Anxiety and doubt did not manage to keep him awake when his head touched the pillows, because the next thing he was aware of was Gilbert slipping under the covers with him. He had not even noticed the Prussian entering his room.

"Gilbert," he whispered drowsily, feeling a pair of arms wrap around him. "You came."

"Of course I did," Gilbert said matter-of-factly, before snuggling closer and burying his face in Roderich's hair.

"For a moment, I didn't think you would."

"Shush. Go back to sleep." Gilbert pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, and then relaxed his grip into a more comfortable sleeping position.

* * *

Gilbert woke to find Roderich's head resting on his chest, his glossy brown hair sleep-tousled into soft curls. It was a beautiful sight. His face was hidden, but Gilbert knew instinctively that the Austrian was still asleep, apparently perfectly comfortable with their newfound closeness.

_That, or he was just really tired last night - this morning, whatever… well, I guess he was. To admit his own insecurities, or a possible mistake, is a big thing for him. _

Roderich never truly relaxed around him, and yet here he was, using Gilbert as a pillow. And this was the second time in little over a month that they were sharing a bed…

_Something is changing, _Gilbert mused, _but whether it is him, me or outside circumstances, I cannot tell… well, circumstances have certainly changed. I have lost my country, and he has lost his empire. We are both weak and powerless compared to what we were before. But maybe it's not all for the worse? The old rivalry is all but gone now…_

Roderich stirred slightly, interrupting Gilbert's train of thought. The Prussian watched him anxiously, staling himself for an adverse reaction when Roderich woke up and found them like this, but nothing happened. Roderich merely shifted his weight a little, gave a soft sigh of contentment that indicated that he was not fully asleep, but not entirely aware of himself and his surroundings either, and settled back into his sleepy apathy.

Gilbert tried to fight down the overwhelming feeling of affection and protectiveness that overcame him as he looked at Roderich. He marveled at the intensity of the sensation; it had been a very long time since he had felt anything this powerful. He had always been attracted to Roderich, and at the same time had always harbored a strange and almost embarrassing affection for his longtime rival, but he had been in control of these feelings. Now, they seemed to be controlling him. Gilbert felt outmatched, afloat, insecure. And paradoxically, the only thing, the only one he had to hold on to was Roderich, who appeared to be experiencing something similar, and yet , as Gilbert felt instinctively, was the source of all the confusion.

Something was happening to them and Gilbert got the distinct impression that the peacefully slumbering nation next to him knew a lot more about it than he let on.

Roderich stirred again, stretched and opened his eyes.

"Your eyes are the wrong color," Gilbert said, too baffled by this fact to stop and think about the statement before it was out of his mouth.

Roderich blinked at him, briefly closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. They were still magenta. "Good morning," he said quietly.

"Morning," Gilbert replied distractedly, shifted and propped himself up on one elbow, facing Roderich. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm a little stiff, probably from falling asleep in an armchair last night, but otherwise I'm fine. " Roderich reached out, his fingertips touching Gilbert's cheek, a cool, soft touch; running down towards his chin, tracing the contours of his face. Gilbert held his breath.

"Actually, _'fine' _is something of an understatement," Roderich murmured, just before his lips came to rest on Gilbert's. The first kiss was light, the second more bold and lingering, and by the third their bodies were pressed firmly together, hungry for contact. They held onto each other like two people lost in a storm, clinging to the only solid shape they could find.

And even with his tongue exploring Roderich's mouth and his hands roaming his body, Gilbert felt that he had to get closer, as close as he could possibly get, because nothing else mattered anymore.

He suddenly found himself on top of Roderich, staring down at his flushed face, those strangely colored eyes looking up at him. There was some apprehension in them, and a flicker of doubt that held Gilbert back.

_I could probably take you right now, and you'd let me. But you might have some regrets about it later, and I can't risk that. I can't risk losing you._

"We should stop."

"Yes," Roderich agreed, his voice slightly breathless.

"For now," Gilbert said, unable to keep the grin off his face.

"What's so funny?"

"I just never thought I'd see you in such a state," Gilbert replied, chuckling.

"You have no idea," Roderich muttered, averting his face.

"Oh, I think I do." Gilbert shifted his weight, deliberately creating friction between them.

Roderich made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed moan, before pushing him off.

"Enough, Gilbert."

"Are quite you sure, Roddy?" Ah, the pleasure in teasing him…! No matter how their relationship had changed over the years, this was the one thing that would never change. Gilbert loved to tease, Roderich hated being teased. Which, of course, made it all the more delicious.

Roderich glowered at him, magenta eyes smoldering. Much as Gilbert worried about their new color, they surely were magnificent. "Do you want to fight this out?"

Gilbert laughed. "Oh, absolutely. And ravish you afterwards. But perhaps another time, and not with guests in the house…"

"Matthew," Roderich breathed, sounding somewhat shocked. "For a moment, I completely forgot about him."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Not very thoughtful of you, though. After all, you _are_ responsible for his wellbeing. You made a promise to Arthur and Francis."

"Don't remind me," Roderich groaned. "Although as Ivan's lover, there's probably not that much that could shock him anymore."

"Ivan's newly acquired lover, and he's taking great pains to set Matthew apart from the others. He hasn't seen everything yet. And let's pray to whatever higher being there is that he never does," Gilbert replied seriously, all traces of laughter wiped from his face.

"Gilbert…" Roderich began, than checked himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. I'll see you downstairs."

"What, no shared bathrooms?" Gilbert asked with mock surprise.

Roderich gave a soft snort. "I want to get clean, not dirty."

* * *

Roderich emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and ready to face his very own Prussian demon again. He was far from admitting it aloud, but he had needed the respite. Gilbert's sudden closeness was a bit overwhelming. _Too much, too soon._ He was already testing his boundaries, pushing rather gently against them, but Roderich had no doubt that he would try to scale the walls ere long. Patience was not one of Gilbert's virtues, nor was restraint, when it came to his desires.

_And I'm ill equipped to hold him off when a considerable part of me wants nothing more than to give in…_

Still, it had to be done. At least for now.

His resolve came dangerously close to faltering when he saw Gilbert, his hair still wet from the shower, looking fresh-faced and ready to conquer the world.

_For someone who is supposed to be dead he looks surprisingly vigorous. _

He coughed surreptitiously. "Right… breakfast…?"

Gilbert smirked, apparently well aware of his misery and enjoying himself tremendously.

_I do hate you sometimes, Gilbert. Really, I do…_

Roderich tried to brush past him without actually touching him. Out in the hallway, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. If he had had any idea that this would be so hard, he probably wouldn't have invited Gilbert the night before. Or maybe he would have done it anyway…

Roderich sighed. There was no way out of this trap, and no one he could share his problem with.

_I suppose I could confide in Matthew… if I trusted him not to tell Gilbert or Ivan. But since I don't, it's really not an option…_

"Are you going to make pancakes?" Gilbert asked with interest, joining him at the kitchen counter.

Roderich forced himself not to look up. "_Kaiserschmarrn_," he replied.

"Just as well. Can I help?"

Remembering what Ludwig – who was by no means a gourmet – had said about Gilbert's cooking, Roderich shuddered at the thought. "Please don't."

"I _was_ trying to be nice, you know," Gilbert said, sounding somewhat put out.

Finally, Roderich looked up. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Gilbert asked, leaning across the counter. He was close, much too close.

Roderich briefly closed his eyes. This was purgatory. And since the only ways out were to either kill Gilbert or to give in and face the consequences (both fairly undesirable options in his opinion), he would have to face the fire and measure his strength against it.

Gilbert slowly rounded the counter, as if drawn closer by some invisible force. For all Roderich knew, he was, moved by the same inexplicable yearning that he himself was trying to subdue. Well… inexplicable to Gilbert. Roderich himself knew quite well where it came from.

_No one ever told me it would be like this. Dear Lord in Heaven, did Ivan face this, too? That might explain some of his insanity…_

"You look like you're in pain", Gilbert observed.

"That's not…" _… completely inaccurate._

But he never got to finish his sentence, neither with a lie, nor with the truth. Gilbert's lips on his own took the words from his mouth and every clear thought out of his head. Gilbert pushed and Roderich relented, until he stood with his back to the wall – figuratively. Literally, it was the refrigerator.

And despite his earlier statement, he was infinitely grateful for Matthew walking in on them just then.

* * *

_So here is Roderich's and Gilbert's side of the kitchen scene and the events that preceded it. What do you think? Reviews, as always, are much appreciated._


End file.
